by Kate Bulpitt
‘Well, we’re trying to tackle more topical things…’
‘I noticed. Very astute. You have a different perspective to everywhere else. You should make the most of it.’
‘The perspective of a hedgehog on a skateboard, or a hang-gliding dog?’
Annie laughed. ‘Not that – there is that – but you have a distinctive appeal. Plus you’re independent, and you really can’t underestimate how much people value that. Given that the news corporations are sometimes felt to be biased…’
Diplomatic, Eve thought.
‘These days,’ Annie said, ‘small can be especially mighty.’
‘Here’s hoping…’
‘Did you just say we’d met before?’
‘I came to visit the News South studio years ago. My mum arranged it for my birthday. I came with her and my brother. You gave me a signed postcard – I’ve still got it.’
Why on earth would you say that, Eve berated herself. What an idiot.
‘Really?’ Annie looked touched. ‘That’s lovely to hear. I hope you had a good day, and that it was interesting.’ In what Eve guessed was a reference to Say Fantastique!, Annie added, ‘Though perhaps we seemed quite sombre.’
Eve wanted to say, sombre was exactly what I wanted, but didn’t trust herself to utter anything sensible.
Annie considered Eve for a brief moment, before looking across at a table of welly-wearing placard-wavers, gathering themselves and their banners together, ready to head back outside.
‘The rally was still going?’
‘It was when I left. The Furys had just gone on and were livening things up, so…’ She’s going to leave, Eve thought, thinking of all the things she wanted to ask her, including questions about the Purple Scheme. I shouldn’t have mentioned the postcard – that’d make anyone want to run away into a riot rather than be subjected to such fawning nonsense.
Annie was folding her newspaper, but paused, and looked at Eve.
‘You had a question?’ she said.
‘Yes.’ Eve was curious. ‘How did you… ?’
‘Years of interviews,’ said Annie. ‘Makes it easy to pick up on when someone has something they want to say.’
This was not only one of Eve’s newsreading heroines, but an incredibly experienced journalist who’d spent decades working at one of the country’s biggest news organisations. Could – should – Eve ask Annie the one question she most wanted to put to her?
Leaning forward, Annie said, ‘Trust your instincts, Eve.’
Pushing her plate to one side, Eve took a breath.
‘No one is saying anything about how the transformations are happening,’ she said, ‘and I’m very curious about that.’
Annie sat back. She nodded. ‘Go on.’
‘It seems improbable that there aren’t people looking into it.’
Annie tilted her head. Another nod.
‘But I want to look into it. I want to find out. Mostly because it’s fascinating – isn’t it?’ This said with rhetorical wonder.
‘It is incredible, yes.’
‘But also because…’ How not to sound like a moron? ‘I know I’ve been caught up in silly news, that I must seem frivolous. But I spent most of my life transfixed by proper news. I just sort of… got waylaid. But this story. It sounds barmy, but it’s mine. This scheme is ridiculous, and sort of comical, in an awful way, but also earth-shattering. And I want to crack it.’
Eve expected Annie to be reaching for her jacket, but did she instead detect an intrigued glint in her eyes?
‘You’ll be aware,’ said Annie, ‘that it’s all been very need-to-know. My impression is that very few people have the full scoop on how it’s being implemented, certainly not any journalists.’
At this, Eve thought of a recent photograph she’d seen of Annie at a dinner with Theo Fletcher, and the friendly relationship they supposedly had.
‘And I don’t know any officials who’ve talked about it,’ Annie continued, ‘even off the record.’
‘It’s so strange that publicly no one seems to be asking about it.’
‘Well,’ Annie said, ‘I suppose people are distracted by the bigger picture. If you’re for the scheme you’re not interested in how people are being Turned, you’re just glad that they are. If you’re against, it’s not how it’s happening that concerns you so much as that it’s happening at all.’
‘I know. Obviously it makes it so much more effective, that it’s so secret. That they can create more fear that way. A mysterious bogeyman who can get you at any time, you don’t know where or when, or how, only that he’s all around you. For the good, that gives them strength, a sense of protection, and justice. For the bad, it’s supposed to keep them on edge, let them know that they can be caught at any time, that they can’t get away with anything.’
‘Hats off to them,’ said Annie. ‘It’s very clever. And means the government will want to do everything it can to maintain that secrecy. Particularly after the way the scheme was revealed. I’d imagine they’ll take an extremely dim view of anyone getting close enough to let the cat out of the bag.’
‘Do you think they’d Turn them Purple?’ Eve joked.
‘I actually wouldn’t be surprised,’ said Annie.
‘Really?’ Eve faltered. ‘So you think it could be dangerous?’
‘Undoubtedly.’
‘An inadvisable investigation, then?’
‘I wouldn’t necessarily say that,’ said Annie, with a conspiratorial smile.
Chapter Ten
It was highly likely that, had there not been any trouble at the rally, it would barely have been reported at all. But, gleeful at this gift of violet violence, the papers were ablaze.
Seven police officers were injured yesterday when Purple THUGS attacked them at a rally AGAINST the Purple Scheme. Hundreds of people attended the event, including some families with TOTS who were left TERRIFIED when violence broke out. The HOOLIGANS claimed to be protesting at the force’s involvement in Turning delinquents, even though the government has yet to confirm that it’s bobbies on the beat who are behind it. Officer Jim Woodbeam is still in hospital after purple PAINT was sprayed in his eyes. Fellow cop Nic Django said, ‘Doctors are doing everything they can to save his sight. What he’s going through you wouldn’t wish on anyone. The animals who did this to him deserve much worse than being Turned Purple.’
ZANY musician Iggy Interceptor, who performed at the rally and is known for supporting controversial causes, was overheard to say, ‘It’s TYPICAL that a bunch of trouble-makers have to RUIN the day. I didn’t come here today to support that kind of behaviour. It’s a disgrace, man.’
Courageous PM Theo Fletcher was horrified at the reports, and said, ‘It’s a real shame that a day that was showing support for those who’ve been Turned ended in such tragedy. While I appreciate those decent non-Purple people who attended the rally did so with democratic intentions, I think, unfortunately, this illustrates that we are right to segregate some members of our society, who simply cannot be trusted to behave peacefully or with respect. It also shows that sadly it was an error on our part to lift the restriction on the number of Turned people allowed in public places for this event; that was a one-off relaxation of the rules, which will not be repeated. My thoughts are with those who were hurt in the line of duty, and I wish them all a speedy and full recovery.
We asked for YOUR SAY, and here are some of your thoughts:
‘I’m a retired police officer, and I’d like to thank my colleagues for putting themselves in the line of fire to protect others. Their dedication is an inspiration to us all.’ Barbara, 63.
‘I don’t know why anyone’s surprised. Wot were they thinking, having a rally for them in the first place? Barmy!’ Gordon, 51.
‘It’s disgusting, throwing people’s goodwill back in their faces. They deserve to be Purple AND rot in jail.’ Fleur, 27.
‘Maybe they can be given an extra dose, so they’re more Purple than the others?’ A
lan, 49.
On top of that, the number of Purple people had increased significantly, even in the nation’s smaller towns and villages, and each day mauve mugshots filled an ever expanding number of column inches. On the TV vox pop clips Eve had watched that morning, a man in a navy anorak had said, ‘They’re spreading like fungus. Scum!’ whilst a psychologist in a patterned blouse said, ‘It’s really very dangerous to be demonising people this way.’
Some of those initially held in custody were now back in their homes, some hiding behind boarded-up windows which had already been sprayed with growling graffiti declaring ‘A Lav Lives Here’. There were stories of people who would begin to Turn while they were out and about, or at work. One man was at the till in a supermarket when the change commenced, causing the cashier to faint; another was on a bus when his Purple patches began to appear, only realising when the old lady beside him let out a piercing shriek. Speaking to reporters later, the driver said: ‘It’s bloody dangerous having people turning Purple willy nilly, all over the place. I nearly had a heart attack.’
But even with the rising number of lilac lads and lasses, there was no respite for original Lav, Lee, whose stepdad had now been Turned too. ‘Like Father, Like Son’, ran the headline, alongside Baz Collyer’s photo.
Looks like the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree when it comes to Lee Bowen. His stepdad, Baz, must have been setting him a thuggish example – having just been Turned for not one, but TWO violent offences. At first Baz claimed he’d been unfairly made a Lav after defending Lee’s name by HEADBUTTING a man making comments about his wayward stepson. But that wasn’t the crime for which he got Purple punishment. In fact, after leaving the shop where the headbutting incident occurred, he was seen PUNCHING Lee’s mum, Vicky. ‘I’m relieved Baz is with the police now,’ said Vicky. ‘I’ve been really SCARED of him for a long time – and I’m not the only one he’s been using as a punch bag.’
In the Lav Line Up were half a dozen perpetrators (or, as the papers now preferred, ‘purpetrators’) of stabbings, one of which had proved fatal; numerous men and a teenage girl who had been involved in pub brawls; a woman who – this was particularly unpleasant – had thrown acid in the face of an alleged love rival; and a man who, for kicks, had stolen a disabled man’s mobility scooter and dumped it by a bus stop a mile away.
*
The dogs bounded into the room, ahead of Helena, who’d taken them out for a walk.
‘Any word?’ she asked Eve, referring to no-show Duncan.
‘Nope.’
‘Huh.’
‘There’ll be a perfectly rational explanation,’ said Womble.
‘Glad to hear you still appreciate the word rational,’ said Helena.
At this, Womble looked towards the Svengalis poster and raised his eyebrows, as though theirs too might rise in solidarity.
‘Well,’ said Eve, both wondering aloud and hoping to defuse this exchange, ‘not being psychic, I’d be intrigued to know what that explanation is, though I’m guessing it involves beer and Simon…’
Given these assumptions, she was neither worried nor too interested. But, never one for unsolved mysteries, she felt a twinge every time the phone rang, so it didn’t help that Womble and Helena had received a handful of silent phone calls. Having not been home for any of these instances, Womble teased Helena that she might be imagining them – ‘Perhaps it’s shy aliens trying to make contact.’ To which Helena retorted, ‘I think you’ve been spending too much time with Bob.’
Eve pushed the pile of newspapers out of the way. As usual, there had been no new clues today. But based on Bob’s InTan theory, in her notebook Eve had made a list of potential avenues for investigation:
Crayne Industries
Bell & Styles
The Gilded Tub S pa
Carla De Lora
Quite an enigma, Carla had recently separated from her Swiss millionaire husband, heir to a watch-manufacturing fortune, after a scandal involving his dealing with dodgy diamonds being smuggled through human mules. This was a story where revelations stacked up like a pile of pancakes, and the tabloids reported the split in headlines that surprised no one, such as ‘Carla’s Hubby’s no Diamond Geezer’, and ‘Stop the Clock! Carla Calls Time on Marriage’. Now allegedly cloistered away, quietly recovering from the break-up, Carla hadn’t been seen in public for months. Unfortunate timing, Eve thought – no pun intended – for if only there were some way to speak to her, Carla was one person guaranteed to know InTan’s secret.
*
The press office at Crayne Industries had been as forthcoming as Eve had anticipated, despite her posing as someone she hoped would be unlikely to arouse suspicion.
‘Hi, this is Sarah, calling from Carla De Lora’s office. I’m her new assistant, and I’m just pulling together details of her endorsements so we have an overview of her upcoming commitments, when she… you know, is ready to dive back into her schedule.’
‘Sure, okay,’ said the press officer, giving Eve a glimmer of hope.
‘You’re the office for InTan, am I right?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘Great! So, I can’t see any pending appearances or shoots, and wanted to check there’s nothing I should be aware of?’
‘There isn’t, no. Did Carla not tell you that the product’s no longer scheduled for release?’
‘No! Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. Carla’s… well, she’s on holiday at the moment, and I’m just catching up on everything in her absence, ready for when she gets back. That’s such a shame! She looked incredible in the photos. I had my fingers crossed I might get to try it. Did you?’
‘No, but then personally, I’m not one for tanning. Everyone else here was pretty excited about it, though.’
‘I’ll bet. What with it lasting so long. What is it, a pill?’
‘I…’ The press officer paused, and there was muffled talking as she covered the receiver. ‘I’m sorry. For commercial reasons, that’s confidential, so we would only be able to talk about the product with Carla herself.’
‘Gosh! Right, of course. I’ll have to ask Carla to spill the beans, then! And actually, speaking of spillages, I’ve… um… managed to tip coffee over a couple of the pages of her InTan agreement. Might someone be able to send over another copy, do you think?’
‘You’d have to ask the legal department. Though honestly, if I were you, I’d ask Carla’s lawyer, or agent. Our legal team would only send it on to them, anyway.’
‘Great, that’s so helpful, thank you,’ said Eve.
Or rather, she thought, absolutely no help at all.
Next she tried both Bell & Styles and the Gilded Tub Beauty Spa, posing first as a beauty journalist, and then as a keen customer prepared to pay any price to become so exclusively golden, to no avail.
Eve sighed, underlining Carla’s name on her list. How, she wondered, am I going to track down Carla De Lora? She didn’t know anyone Carla worked with, and if she was off the grid somewhere it would be even trickier to engineer getting to talk to her.
Hoping she could find some mention of InTan – evidence of its existence was proving to be highly elusive on the Portal – Eve waded through a slew of articles featuring Carla. She found beauty tips, fashion tips, and an infinite number of mentions on party pages, before stumbling across what seemed to be a particularly fortuitous photo: Carla in a new anti-Purple Scheme portrait, swathed in mauve lighting, remaining typically elegant, the most luminous of Lavs, taken by Magnus. Did she dare approach him to ask for help?
Following both Annie and Frankie’s cautions, inviting anyone else to partake in her (admittedly low-fi) investigation meant potentially luring them into a murky, governmental spider’s web. And if they were caught, what would be the consequences? What punishment would be handed to those who tried, or succeeded, to unveil the scheme’s secrets? Also, what if Magnus, in turn, were to enlist Humane’s help? Eve presumed they were already researching the path to Purpledom, and while
their clout, and manpower, could only be beneficial to uncovering the truth, with a tight grip on her spade she wanted to be the one to undig it.
There was another, worse, consideration, too: making a fool of herself in front of Magnus, again. If he even remembered her and responded to any message she sent, he could think the InTan notion was the most laughable thing he’d ever heard. What she might hope for (enjoying each other’s company, maybe hitting upon what had happened, or not, back in the day), and what would actually transpire (who knew what nit-witted embarrassment she could unleash upon herself), might be poles apart. How would she feel then? Was Magnus the answer? Or might there be another way?
Eve doodled an approximation of Pam, with a speech bubble asking ‘How?’ Maybe Adio could do something with the InTan idea, she thought. Plant the seed in an unexpectedly tanned Pam.
Keen for a distraction, she called the Say Fantastique! office, regaling Adio with recent events.
‘Annie Morris a Pam fan!’ he said. ‘There’s something to celebrate.’
‘Purple Pam is ludicrously popular. Have you seen the tidal wave of messages about her whooshing into the Portal? People are loving her mauve specs and beehive.’ Eve could hear Adio puffing on a cigarette. ‘You really do need to give up,’ she said.
‘I know, doll. But moving on… How’s your dad settling in?’
‘He’s good, pretty much back on form. He’s supposed to be taking it easy, which at the moment translates as my mum looking after him, and them cooing over each other. I’m leaving them to it, possibly more than I should be.’
‘They need a chaperone?’
‘They need something, that’s for sure.’
‘In other news,’ said Adio, ‘have you seen the response your report on the rally has had, mon fleur?’
‘I know. It’s heartening. Also, tell me what you make of this,’ said Eve, relaying Bob’s InTan theory.
‘I had a fling with a guy who worked at Crayne,’ said Adio.